


Oh My God, You're My Soulmate

by ChaddicusIX



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Polyamory, Rated T for language, also probably not canon compliant with the hawkeye show whenever that happens, clint/bucky is the main ship but clint/laura is definitely present, so polyamory is the intention but there may be infidelity vibes, so. probably not canon compliant once that's out, there's some ambiguity where poly negotiations are implied but not really discussed on screen, written before Falcon and Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaddicusIX/pseuds/ChaddicusIX
Summary: Your soulmark is the first thing your soulmate ever says to you. Bucky feels differently about his mark now than he did before Hydra, before the Winter Soldier. He's stopped expecting to hear the words, for one. He's certainly not expecting anything from Hawkeye, the only original Avenger that survived Thanos and decided to hang around the team anyway.---Sam doesn’t look like he entirely agrees, but he doesn’t fight. “Enjoy your night on the lumpy sofa, then.”“Hey, that sofa’s comfier than most beds you’ve slept in, Wilson,” Clint retorts on his way through. It’s the first Bucky’s really heard from him since they arrived, and he huffs a laugh.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 141





	Oh My God, You're My Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I've had this completely written for *checks notes* literally a year but for some reason am only posting it now lmao. I've edited it myself but no beta, so all mistakes are mine, of course. Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: the MCU and its characters belong to Disney and Marvel Studios, not me. I'm making no money from this, this is just for fun, don't worry about it mr mouse please it's fine I swear you can put down the gun I'm not-

_Oh my god, you’re my soulmate._

When Bucky was younger, he found the words somewhat reassuring; he already knew that some people had marks so plain that they end up missing them when they’re said. Clearly, he and his soulmate wouldn’t have that issue.

As he got older, he made a point of being as charming as he could the first time he met anyone interesting. After all, the words seem to imply he leaves quite an impression.

After, he realizes anyone would be shocked to hear their words from the Winter Soldier’s mouth. Part of him even wonders if he’d met his soulmate already, but lost the memory in a wipe somewhere. He can only imagine the words said in fear, or horror. He doesn’t bother putting effort into introducing himself. He doesn’t bother saying much at all.

When Steve had brought other Avengers into his cause to save Bucky, or whatever he thought he was doing, Bucky’s tongue ties itself in a knot. He’s spoken to Sam already, so they snark back and forth, but Bucky can’t bring himself to say a word in response to Steve’s attempt at introducing him to the others. In their defense, Wanda seems to empathize with him to a degree -- he learns later that it might be _literal_ empathy as much as anything -- and Scott makes an attempt at a good impression, though he seems too distracted by _Captain America_ to pay much heed to him beyond a rambling greeting.

Steve forgets to introduce him to Clint until the last minute possible, it seems, and Clint only shoots him a lazy salute as they prepare for whatever fight awaits them. Bucky returns the gesture, and doesn’t think much of it.

Later, on their flight to Siberia, Steve explains a little more about the people they’d left behind -- both fighting with them and against them. When he briefly mentions Clint’s mind-control incident, Bucky side-eyes him. “Is that why you didn’t want us to talk?” He asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve replies, but he doesn’t look Bucky in the eye. After a moment passes, he sighs. “You’re the only two people I’ve met who might have shared experience in that area,” he admits. “I figured either you’d get along like a house on fire, or you’d clash in some way I couldn’t predict. I didn’t want it to get in the way of whatever came next.”

He looks up at Bucky, finally, and Bucky keeps their gaze locked for a while before nodding slightly and looking through the window. “Alright,” he says, and leaves it there.

What follows is, of course, complete and utter chaos, and Bucky barely gets the chance to breathe before he’s going under in Wakanda. When they wake him up, he’s grateful to discover there’s nothing too serious anyone needs him for. He takes the opportunity to enjoy what peace he’s given. No one says his words. For a while, he doesn’t think about them at all.

It isn’t until after Thanos that he gets kicked back into life beyond herding goats, and into life as a superhero at that. It’s strange, but he can’t deny it feels good to help people with his enhanced abilities rather than just leaving death and destruction behind. It doesn’t balance out what his hands have done, not even close, but when the Winter Soldier’s deeds are dragged up around him now and then, he can think of what the White Wolf has accomplished and breathe through it a little easier.

The Avengers don’t really have a headquarters, anymore. Tony had been the one responsible for arranging all that, and he’s granted the team a fair amount of funding for this sort of thing if they need it, but no one left seems to have any desire to rebuild the compound, and they just… drift. They keep in contact, sure; secure communications devices, phones and holographic conference rooms if they want to install them in their own bases. But they mostly work where they’re needed most, and very few threats require more than a few of them to join up.

Bucky’s staying with Sam. He’s hasn’t really had a place of his own since the forties, after all; every place he’d stayed at between dragging Steve out of the river and Steve dragging him away from Tony was always a temporary situation, squatting and slumming wherever he could get away with it until he came too close to being discovered. The less said about his time with Hydra, the better. His hut in Wakanda always felt borrowed, too; no one ever made him feel unwelcome, really, but he was an outsider and he knew it. It was nice to pretend that could be his life for a while, but some part of him always knew he’d be dragged out of it one way or another.

As far as the others go, Clint had gone back to his family, Scott had some setup with the Wasp -- Hope, Bucky remembers -- as well as some other associated individuals whose names and hero status Bucky isn’t certain of; Last he’d heard, Wanda was in the wind, the Spider-kid was back in Queens, Strange was in his Sanctum, Captain Marvel was back off-world somewhere, as was Thor, though he was with those Guardian folks Bucky had never really been introduced to beyond the raccoon… After that, he loses track. They were a bit of an army in the end, after all, too many of them to easily count and Bucky hadn’t really had the chance to introduce himself to everyone. He hadn’t introduced himself to many of them at all, really; a lot of what he knew he had learned through Sam, a fair amount of which Sam had learned through other people… in some cases, the game of telephone had gotten so complicated that the information he got was a bit difficult to believe, even if he trusts that Sam wouldn’t lie to him.

“His dad was a _planet_ , seriously?” He asks, incredulously.

Sam just shrugs. “S’what I was told. Scott heard it from Thor, apparently; claims Thor had learned it from the talking tree.”

“Talking tree,” Bucky repeats, and sure, he’d met Groot, was aware of his existence and his ability to form words, but at some point his brain just has to put up a wall against the chaos of it all, for the sake of his own sanity.

His relationship with Sam has mellowed out, obviously; he doesn’t think Sam would let him stay if he didn’t like him just a _little_ \-- but beyond that, he hasn’t really made friends with any of the others. The only missions he goes out on are ones Sam invites him for personally, and anything bigger than the two of him can handle usually can use Captain America more than the White Wolf.

Until that changes. “I’ve got a mission with Hawkeye,” Sam says. “We could stand to have another sniper with us, though; particularly one with something other than a bow and arrow to shoot.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Bucky comments drily.

“Her,” Sam corrects. “The other one, the kid Barton’s been training.”

“Oh great, we’re taking kids out on missions now,” Bucky replies sarcastically.

“Spidey helps out already, don’t act like it’s new,” Sam counters. “Besides, when I say ‘kid’, I mean she’s twenty but doesn’t have much experience in the field. That’s why we could use you, really; I’d feel better about it if I had more with me than the newest Avenger who’s done more target practice than actual work.”

“Thanks for the consideration,” Bucky drawls, and Sam huffs in response.

“Are you in or not, man?” He bites.

Bucky hesitates for just a moment, but nods. “Alright,” he says. “Probably be good for me to work with someone more than just Captain America once in a while.”

“It will be,” Sam says sincerely. He’d thought of that already, Bucky realizes, and seriously, not just off-hand. He’s grateful that they’ve gotten close enough that Sam gives a shit about his well-being. He doesn’t say as much now, though.

“When are we leaving?” He asks instead.

The kid -- Kate Bishop, Bucky’s reminded, but Hawkeye in the field -- manages the mission better than he expects. She’s cocky when they’re introduced officially, but when things get serious, so does she, and Bucky ultimately has to do very little besides a bit of cover fire that she probably could have handled if she needed to.

“Good work, Hawkeye,” he says on the flight back.

“I know,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, but she seems to appreciate the praise beneath the act.

“We’re dropping you off at the farm,” Sam states. “Barton’ll want to make sure you’re back safe, I’m sure, before interrogating you about how it went. We can handle paperwork tomorrow.”

Bucky groans. The one downside of being legitimate government agents rather than fugitives was that every mission they went out for was followed by way more paperwork than it calls for.

“What are you whining for, man, I’m the one who’ll have a foot tall stack to write out,” Sam snarks. “You just gotta write a three-page essay on what you did on vacation.”

It’s an exaggeration, of course. The joke doesn’t quite fly over Bucky’s head, but it isn’t exactly the sort of thing he’d had to do in school almost a century ago, so it takes him half a second to process it, in which time Kate’s already snorting a laugh in response.

When they get to the farm, the sun’s just gone down, and Clint’s waiting for them on the front porch. He waves in greeting at a distance, but when they approach, Clint immediately grabs Kate and begins badgering her with questions. It seems as much about gauging how Kate did as it is Clint wanting to experience the mission vicariously now that Hawkeye doesn’t just mean him anymore.

Sam and Bucky are left standing on the porch, and Bucky feels awkwardly uncertain about what to do next for a moment -- should they follow inside? Go back to the quinjet? -- before Laura comes to the door and waves them inside. “We’re done eating, but there’s dinner left if you want it,” she says.

“Wouldn’t want to intrude,” Sam demures politely, but Laura shakes her head.

“It’s late,” she insists. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night before heading off again in the morning.”

So they head inside and get set up. Kate, apparently, gets her own bed in a tiny spare room on the first floor, but she doesn’t seem to mind the cramped space. There’s a guest room and a couch left for the two of them; Bucky opts to take the latter. “If anyone followed us here, they’ll have to get through me before anyone else, and we both know I’m a better deterrent,” he declares. “Most folks after you feel like they have something to prove.”

Sam doesn’t look like he entirely agrees, but he doesn’t fight. “Enjoy your night on the lumpy sofa, then,” he bids.

“Hey, that sofa’s comfier than most beds you’ve slept in, Wilson,” Clint retorts on his way through. It’s the first Bucky’s really heard from him since they arrived, and he huffs a laugh. Clint flashes him a smile in response, but doesn’t pause on his journey to and up the stairs. He’s carrying his youngest son, fast asleep against his chest.

Laura brings out sheets to make up the couch, and protests when Bucky offers to do the work instead, but doesn’t actually stop him. Bucky gets ready to sleep quickly and efficiently, and lays on the couch staring up at the ceiling until the house goes silent. He falls asleep soon after.

He’s never been one to sleep in, and the first rays of sunlight filtering in wake him almost instantly. He doesn’t really need it, but he figures it’s only polite for him to put the coffee on, being the first one up. When he hears the stairs creaking beneath footsteps, he pours a cup and holds it out at the ready when Clint comes stumbling in.

Clint turns to the coffeemaker seemingly on autopilot, but stops confusedly when he finds the pot full. He looks around blearily, then takes the mug from Bucky’s hand without question.

Bucky’s tempted to make some joke about not even asking if it’s poisoned, but he’s working on _not_ implying he’s planning to kill people, so he keeps it to himself. 

Clint speaks before he can anyway, gulping down half the mug in one go despite the fact that it must be burning hot and groaning in satisfaction. “Oh my god, you’re my soulmate,” he croaks, voice rough with sleep, and Bucky feels his heart stop in his chest.

“Wouldn’t that be your wife?” He responds without thinking, heart recovering just to pound twice as aggressively, and Clint chokes on his next mouthful of coffee.

When he stops sputtering, he swivels and stares at Bucky with wide eyes, suddenly much more alert, the shock in his expression mirroring the thoughts swirling in Bucky’s head. Bucky knows, with absolute certainty, that Clint has those words written out somewhere on his skin.

“What’d you say?” Clint asks, at odds with the absolute clarity in his eyes.

Instead of answering, Bucky does the reasonable thing. He flees.

He locks himself in the hall bathroom under the pretense of showering. He _does_ shower, but he spends a fair amount of time after just staring at his reflection in the mirror with no fucking idea what to do.

He’d pretty much given up on the thought of finding his soulmate. After all, it’s not so much a sure thing as it is a possibility for, oh, the most important relationship in your life, _that’s all_.

He’s told himself the universe got it wrong when the words one his body weren’t anything Steve had ever said to him. No matter what sort of relationship it was, there’s no way anyone could ever be more to him than Steve.

But he looks down at the words scrawled across the side of his ribs, difficult to make out in the foggy reflection but definitely there, and he feels in his bones that the paired set is out just a few rooms over.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself.

And then he remembers what Steve told him -- he and Clint would either clash or get along too well -- and whatever panic he was spiraling into starts to calm. If Steve could see a chance of something between the two of them, why can’t Bucky give it a shot? What point is there in running from this? Sure, he’s been concerned about the horrors he’d bring into his soulmate’s life, but from what he’s learned about Clint, he’s probably pretty well equipped to handle Bucky’s baggage.

He comes to a decision, then exits the bathroom, determined.

Clint ignores him, of course.

Bucky isn’t going to make a scene, and they really don’t have _that_ much time to hang around, so he doesn’t push when Clint doesn’t meet his eyes, even if something twists in his stomach uncomfortably. No one misses the tension between them, but no one brings it up, either, until Sam and Bucky are taking the quinjet back to D.C.

“What’s up with you and Barton?” Sam prods. “You manage to piss him off when I wasn’t looking?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Not everyone hates me as much as you do, Wilson,” he deflects good-naturedly.

“Seriously, you’ve gotten along fine before,” Sam pushes. “What happened?”

“We’d never really spoken before, actually,” Bucky snarks. But Sam’s pretty much the only person he talks to about anything, these days, even if he makes a point of not oversharing, so he sighs after a moment and looks down at his hands. “He said my words,” he admits.

He can sense Sam’s surprise in the way he shifts next to him, but there’s less of it in his tone than Bucky expected. “I can see how that would make things awkward,” he replies.

Bucky turns to look at him. “Awkward?” He repeats. “The man’s married with children, only it turns out his soulmate is a hundred year-old assassin who got him put on house arrest before we even said a word to each other. Yeah, I guess you could call that _awkward_.”

“You know people’s soulmarks go gray when their soulmate dies, right?” Sam doesn’t quite ask, like it’s supposed to mean something.

“I’m not dead,” Bucky states flatly, brow furrowing.

“Back right after I met Clint, we had this tipsy heart-to-heart as he welcomed me to the team,” Sam explains. “I overshared about Riley. He told me his mark had been gray his whole life and he’d stopped looking at it years ago. Keeps it covered. You may have been alive,” Sam says, “But you weren’t exactly _you_ . If you’re really his soulmate, it sure would explain _that_ , and I’d put money that he’s back there right now wondering how he didn’t notice his mark turn black again.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. “You haven’t told me much about Riley,” He says instead. “Was he yours?”

Sam, per usual, knows exactly what Bucky’s up to, avoiding the subject, but he doesn’t press. “Yeah,” he answers. “Everything we’ve been through recently, I’m surprised it wasn’t Steve, but maybe I just didn’t affect him as much as he did me.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, you affected him plenty,” he says. “I think the two of you just met a little too late. He was on his path already. You just pushed him further.”

“And I was already on the path to being the next Captain America, was I?” Sam retorts.

“Sure,” Bucky replies easily. “Meeting him didn’t change that. You’d have gotten there eventually.”

“Right,” Sam says skeptically, but lets a small smile show anyway.

He doesn’t have Clint’s number. Not a personal number, anyway; he’s got an Official Avengers Business phone like the rest of them, of course, but Bucky isn’t desperate enough to go there just yet.

After two weeks of frustration, he makes the logical choice of quietly commandeering a quinjet to fly back to the farm.

Laura comes out to meet him.

“Clint home?” He asks, but she shakes her head.

“He’s out shopping,” She says, her brow furrowed in concern. “Has something come up?”

Bucky hesitates. “Not business,” he hedges, and something like understanding dawns in Laura’s eyes.

“I see,” she says, and clears her throat. “Well, come on inside. No sense waiting for him out here.”

Bucky nods, somewhat jerkily, and follows her when she moves back inside.

Half an hour passes before Clint gets back. In that time, Laura offers Bucky something to drink, he asks for ‘just water’, and they sit awkwardly at the kitchen table until Nathaniel wakes up from his nap, apparently, and Laura excuses herself to tend to him.

Eventually, Bucky hears gravel crunch as a truck drives up to the house. He sees Clint climb out through the window; he’s carrying a few bags, and he’s certainly trying to look casual, but Bucky has a better eye for body language than most and can see the tension in his shoulders. It’s hard to miss a quinjet, Bucky thinks.

Bucky isn’t in sight of the door, so Clint doesn’t notice him immediately upon entering. “I’m back,” he calls out, and his footsteps approach the kitchen where Bucky’s seated. “Is something wrong? There’s --”

He cuts off, stopping in his tracks as he steps into the kitchen and sees Bucky sitting there. His expression is carefully flat, and he takes a breath before he continues his trajectory inward, but remains silent as he begins to put away the groceries he’d brought in.

“I think we should talk,” Bucky says.

“What about?” Clint asks breezily, and he doesn’t see Bucky roll his eyes, but he should really be expecting it, Bucky thinks.

“ _Clint_ ,” He says, and Clint’s movements slow to a stop before he sets the box of cereal in his hand down on the counter.

There’s a period of silence that stretches before he speaks. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, growing up knowing you’re soulmate’s been dead since you were born?” He asks, voice low and strained.

Bucky’s a bit surprised that Clint’s so willing to jump into it after completely ignoring him and all. “Can’t say that I do,” he says after a moment.

Clint lets out a weak huff of a laugh before turning around and leaning against the counter behind him. “It sucks,” he says plainly. “And it’s a bit of a shock when, after forty years of that, your soulmate miraculously shows up in your kitchen like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Bucky replies, brow furrowing. “I’d given up on any chance of a soulmate who would want anything to do with the Winter Soldier. I figured I’d missed my shot, fucked up any reasonable chance of that when I fell from the train. I was convinced I’d have to walk away if I ever found you.”

“And, what, you changed your mind the moment you saw me?” Clint snorts.

“I changed my mind when it occurred to me that the Winter Soldier might not be a problem,” he says. “It sounds like we have a lot more in common than I would have expected. I’d like the chance to explore that. I’m hoping you’ll take it with me.”

Clint rolls his eyes and turns away, going back to his groceries. “Less in common than you think,” he says. “Listen, I don’t know what they told you, and I have to assume you’re talking about New York, but you didn’t have to watch yourself kill your friends, alright? I don’t get the luxury of missing memories.”

It’s cruel, is what it is, but Bucky can tell Clint’s just saying him to push him away. That knowledge doesn’t prevent the anger, but it helps him manage it a little. “I don’t either, actually,” He replies, voice hard. “I remember every one of them. I may not have known them before, but I know them all now. Their names, their faces. What they looked like when they died. Who they left behind. Fifty years of that, you think I don’t know what it’s like to see your hands spill blood against your will? You aren’t that narcissistic, or that stupid.” Bucky stands up, finally, and takes a few steps closer. Clint’s stopped moving again, but he’s gripping the edge of the counter tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “What’s this really about, Clint? What are you scared of?”

Clint’s silent for a moment, and the air around them is crackling with tension. “I’m married,” he grits out. “I have kids. I built a life, here, knowing I’d never find the one person who could turn it upside-down. Yet here you are, strolling in like you can’t imagine what you’re doing to me.”

The words leave Bucky baffled. “I guess you’re right on that count,” He says. “I can’t imagine how me being here could ruin your life. What, you think I’m gonna tell you not to spend time with them or something?”

“I’m not going to cheat on my wife, Barnes,” He says, turning around and glaring at him.

Bucky’s eyebrows fly up. “You think I’m expecting you to?” He asks incredulously. “Plenty of soulmates are platonic, Clint, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It _is_ like that,” Clint bites out, stepping forward. “I knew it was like that the moment I saw you, but I figured it didn’t matter. I’m attracted to Cap’s best friend, whatever, no problem, knew that from the history books. You’re an Avenger now? Fine, I’m not really on the team anymore anyway. Harmless infatuation, nothing will come of it. But we’re fucking _soulmates_ , and you’re standing this close and expecting me not to do something about it?”

They _are_ close; if either of them took even a half-step forward, they'd be practically chest-to-chest. Clint’s not angry at Bucky, Bucky realizes; his voice is filled with frustration, and a small measure of guilt, but the fire in his eyes isn’t quite anger. Bucky swallows thickly as heat runs through him, and he looks away before stepping back. “Fine,” he says. “If it’s that much of a problem… Whatever, I’ll go. This was stupid.”

He walks out swiftly; he thinks he can hear Clint cursing under his breath behind him, but he forces himself not to look back. If he’d waited a moment longer, he knows, he wouldn’t have been able to walk away. He hasn’t given any real thought to the romantic potential of soulmates in so long that the idea of having that with Clint hadn’t occurred to him until he was a breath away from kissing him. It’s… not ideal.

_Clash it is_ , he thinks to himself, and tries to swallow down the disappointment. Stupid to think it’d be anything else.

He’s out of the house and halfway to the quinjet when he hears the door open and shut behind him, hurried footsteps following him.

He has no intention of looking back or slowing down, but Laura’s voice surprises him.

“Wait,” she calls out. “Please.”

He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn to look at her. “What?” He asks flatly.

She doesn’t speak until she’s caught up with him, and she steps in front of him to look him in the eye. “Clint’s an idiot sometimes,” she says. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “We’ve talked about this, you know. About you. I’ve been giving him time, but he’s not quite ready yet.”

“Not quite ready to step out on his wife?” Bucky asks snarkily. “Can’t imagine why not.”

Laura sighs softly in frustration. “Not quite ready to think about what finding his soulmate means,” she says. “I’ll admit, I knew his mark was gray, I never had any reason to expect this thing to come up. His soulmate showing up one day and…”

“Ruining everything?” Bucky finishes flatly.

Laura frowns at him admonishingly. “I’m not sure what you’re doing just yet, but it isn’t that.” She looks around briefly at nothing in particular, gathering her thoughts. “I know how these things go,” she says. “Whatever happens between you two will have an impact on both of you, one way or the other. I’m not going to be the reason that’s a bad thing. Just… give him time, alright? If he doesn’t figure it out soon, I’ll knock some sense into him.”

Bucky is at a loss for words. He sighs and looks away from her. “I’ll give him time,” he accedes. “But if he doesn’t get his shit together, I’m not capable of getting it for him, right? I can’t make this work without him. I don’t know what you want me to do, honestly.”

“Give him the chance to think this through before you give up on him, that’s all,” Laura replies.

Bucky shakes his head before meeting her eyes. “Yeah, fine,” he sighs. “Not like I was planning otherwise.”

She smiles at him waveringly, then raises her arms like she’s going to -- hug him, or maybe shake his hand or something, but she drops them quickly and just nods before stepping back around him to return to the house.

Bucky doesn’t let himself look back until he’s in the quinjet, ready to take off. Clint isn’t anywhere in sight.

Bucky gives him time. He gives him truckloads of time. Six months, really, which feels like a stupid length of time to ignore someone he feels drawn to so strongly, but he’s not gonna push. He goes out on missions, still, meets with other Avengers more frequently, now, sometimes just to socialize, even.

He’s just gotten back from a mission, icing a bruise over rapidly healing ribs, when a sharp knock sounds at the front door.

Bucky’s immediately on alert. Sam has no reason to knock, obviously, and anyone else would have called beforehand. He sets the ice down, finds his pistol and approaches the door cautiously. Glancing through the window beside the door reveals Clint.

Bucky’s shoulders relax in relief, and he straightens up as he takes the last few steps and opens the door, the gun held carefully at his side.

“Hey,” Clint says, then pauses as he takes in the sight of Bucky -- bruised, tired, shirtless, and thankfully, recently showered. “Wow, okay. Yeah.”

Bucky huffs out a weak laugh. “Hi, Clint,” He greets. Clint’s holding flowers, he notices finally, and -- okay, that definitely sets the tone. Bucky can’t help but shift his stance, leaning against the doorframe in a way that he learned puts heat in people’s eyes -- whether he learned that recently or a long time ago, he isn’t sure, but he pays no mind to the thought as he does it.

He’s still holding the gun in his right hand, though, and Clint doesn’t miss that once his eyes have trailed low enough to spot it. “Whoa,” Clint says, raising his hands in at least forty percent mock defense. “I know I fucked things up last time, but I didn’t think you’d hate to see me this much.”

Bucky rolls his eyes before stepping back slightly to set the gun down on the table beside the door. “Why are you here, Clint?” he asks.

“Right,” Clint says, clearing his throat. He brings his hands down before holding the flowers out before him. Bucky isn’t an expert at identifying flowers, but they’re white, and they definitely aren’t roses. “Lupine,” Clint identifies. “They’re kind of poisonous, and I probably shouldn’t have them really, but as long as you don’t eat them you’ll be fine.”

“Lupine,” Bucky repeats. “You brought me a white wolf flower?” He can’t help the grin that pulls at his face as warmth slowly in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Clint shrugs. “My wife suggested I take you out on a date, and I thought I should bring you _something_ to convince you.” He looks mildly embarrassed, for some reason Bucky can’t imagine.

Bucky’s grin grows. “I don’t need much convincing,” he says. His ribs twinge as if to counter his words, and he can’t help but wince slightly. “I’m not sure I’m up to going out at the moment, though.”

Clint swallows and lowers his arm, looking away from Bucky. “Of course,” he says casually. “Yeah, I get it. No worries.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You really are an idiot,” he says affectionately, and reaches out to take the flowers from Clint’s hand. “Come on,” he says. “Get in here. We can order take-out. Unless you’ve already eaten,” he checks, and Clint shakes his head, relief spreading across his face like he genuinely though Bucky was going to turn him away. “Good,” Bucky says, then steps out of the doorway and gestures for Clint to enter.

He closes the door behind them, then picks up the gun to carry back to a more appropriate place. Once that’s done, he makes his way to the kitchen to find some sort of vase or glass for the flowers.

“Make yourself at home,” he tells Clint. “We’ve got menus somewhere around here, what are you in the mood for?”

After the food is ordered and the flowers are settled in a mason jar that barely holds them, Bucky grabs two beers and settles beside Clint, cracking them open with his left hand and passing one over. Clint laughs at the trick softly, then nods in thanks, clinking their bottles together lightly.

The silence isn’t awkward, but there’s tension there between them, and Bucky isn’t sure if it’s good or bad.

He turns his body to face Clint, leaning an elbow against the back of the couch and resting his head on his hand. Clint turns to mirror him, slightly. “Did you really think I’d reject you?” He asks gently.

Clint sighs, looking down at the bottle in his hands. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he says. “I fucked things up pretty bad last time, I know. I hoped the flowers might help convince you to forgive me, eventually.”

Bucky chews on his lip for a moment. “It wasn’t great,” he agrees. “But I’m more interested in making this work than holding a grudge. If you’re ready to move past it, I can be, too.”

Clint smiles slightly, looking up at Bucky again. “I think I am,” he says, then pauses. “It won’t be easy, alright?” He glances down away from Bucky just for a moment, gathering his thoughts before meeting his gaze again. “I made a promise to Laura, and I never expected I’d have a soulmate show up to get in the way of that. We’ve come to an… agreement, of sorts, but I can’t just dive into this. I might fuck up again, but… I want to make this work, too.”

Bucky nods. “I get it,” he says. “I mean, I’m not married or anything, but I hadn’t thought about a relationship for about seventy years before you, so.” He shrugs playfully, and Clint laughs.

“Alright, that’s fair,” he concedes.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Bucky says. “Take it as slow as we need to. I’m not in a rush, Clint, I just want you here.”

The remaining tension in Clint’s shoulders slides away, and the air between them shifts. “I want to be here,” he says.

“Then stay,” Bucky suggests.

Clint’s gaze turns searching, though Bucky can’t guess what he’s looking for. “I can do that,” he says, and Bucky smiles.


End file.
